


Irrelevant

by hatwall



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: After The Strike, David is an angel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Italian Racetrack Higgins, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Race has a hard time, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, all appearances are taken from the 1992 movie, and stressed, jack is a worried, javid - Freeform, minor OCs - Freeform, race is bad at communication, sprace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatwall/pseuds/hatwall
Summary: On the way to the tracks, Race witnesses a the beginnings of something horrible. He can't just walk away, so he steps in and takes it. It turns out to be a horrible idea. but it's alright, because it is only going to happen once (right). On top of that, he is second in command at the lodge house, and tensions between the boroughs are starting to rise, and Jack would like to stop them before they start.This contains rape and non-constitutional elements. Decide if this is right for you to be reading.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 37
Kudos: 92





	1. I Couldn't Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is intense. Decide if it is right for you.

The cold fall started to nip at the edges of spring. Not too cold, but it was going to get there. Winter was always a hard season for the newsies, not only did people walk around the streets less, so it was harder to sell papers, but most of the rages that most of the kids called clothes were thin, and did not give much protection from the snow and bitter cold.

Racetrack Higgins puffed at the cigar that stuck in between his teeth, lazily counting the money in his hands. Even in the cold months, people would be at the races, and he would be there, taking bets and gambling. It was more important now than ever to make money, since they needed to get some new clothes for the younger kids. And, as one of the older kids, it was his responsibility to make sure they had what they needed. That, and he was Jack’s second in command, so there was even more pressure for him to provide.

Not that he minded. Once he got attached to someone, he liked to make sure that they were ok, and most of the kids at the lodge were not that annoying. That, and he did not want to look at their shivering faces the entire winter, it was gnawing at his conscience. Or what little he had left. It was hard to have one and hassle people out of their money, especially in the expert way that Race did. But that was only with adults. Adults who had a lot of money, and did not give a damn about the kids starving and cold on the streets, so why should he care if he conned them out of a few cents?

He signed, before starting to walk. It was a way to the track, and he was getting a slow start, so he was going to miss dinner that night, but he could probably talk something out of one of the venders that were going to be there. Picking up his pace to a brisk walk, he rounded a corner, knowing that there was a shortcut through the allies that he could take. The adults of the cities never took the back allies and short cuts all around the city, mostly because they did not know about them, but also because they required a lot of physical strength to get through. Something that all the newsies and other child laborers had just for existing along with all the work they had to do to make sure they had another meal.

With his hands in his pockets, started in jump on the boxes and discarded trash to slip through the window of one of the tenement houses. They were so packed that no one was going to question why he was there. Chances are the people who actually lived there had no idea who the other people in their building were.

Maneuvering his way through the hallways, he climbed out another one of the windows, taking his hands out of his pockets to lower himself down to a pile of garbage in the next alley. The light from the sky was blocked out from the tall buildings that towered over Race on either side. His worn shoes clicked against the broken streets, moving bits of stone around with each step. The money in his pocket gently jingled in his pants pocket. But those were the only two noises, and even those were faint. Race was like a cat, slipping in and out of places like he had never been there. Always everywhere, while, also, being nowhere. His vast knowledge of the city only made it easier to get places without being seen. Always being careful, he had to be. With all the people he conned there was always a possibility that someone would follow him back to the lodge. And that was the last thing that he was going to let happen. He would never forgive himself if one of the kids got hurt because of something he did.

There were nights where he had to sleep on roofs, because people kept following him, and would not leave until the sun came up. One year he spent the entire night holding his mouth shut in a tree, to make sure he did not make a noise, as a posse searched for him underneath.

Noises around the next corner pulled Race out of his trance. He got as close as he knew he could get to turning the corner, pressing his body close against the rough brick walls. Peeking around the corner. There was an adult there.

“Come on now,” he said, talking to another person that Race did not see “it’ll be fun.”

He immediately pressed his body even closer against the wall. He could sneak away now, and not get caught. That was easy. He turned to leave, as silently as he could.

“I don’t want to” a child’s voice. Race stopped in his tracks. He returned to his hiding spot, looking around the corner even more. There they were. An adult male and a small little boy, could not be any older than Les, lacing his fingers together not looking a the man.

From his attire, he looked like a chimney sweeper child worker, one of the most dangerous jobs. Sometimes, if they did not work fast enough, they would get fires lit underneath them for incentive. Race gritted his teeth at the thought, but stayed silent. Maybe his mind was taking a turn for the worse.

“I promise I’ll be gentle” said the man, putting his disgusting hand on the boy's shoulder, visibly making him flinch “I know it must be your first time.”

_Yeah, we’re not doing that tonight_ angrily thought Race, as he stepped into the alley.

“Hey, mista’ ” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but widening his stance to make himself look bigger “ ‘ll do it.”

“Will you?” the man said, taking his hand off of the boy. The anger that had boiled in Race’s stomach subsided. He could feel the creeps eyes scanning him up and down, making sure he was not too old for his tastes. “You ever done it before?”

Race shook his head, glancing at the boy. He was staring at the older boy, eyes full of hope, relieved that he has a savior. Race only hoped that the disgusting creep took the bite. If he didn’t there was no way that he could leave this kid alone, so it meant that he would be fighting. The longer the man waited to give him an answer the more adrenaline that his body started to release, preparing to fight, to pick up the boy and run. Because he did not know if he was going to be able to take this man down.

“Alright” the man finally said, licking his lips in a way that sent shivers down Race’s spine. Good, he took the bite, now all he needed to do was fulfill the last part of the plan, and he would be fine.

The man turned to the chimney sweeper boy. He flashed a grateful glance to Racetrack before he ran off down the alleyway, leaving the newsie in the abandoned alley alone with the man.

“Well now boy,” he said, wrapping his arm around Race’s shoulder. He recoiled at the touch, it felt disgusting. That seemed to be the reaction that the man wanted.“My place is near here, why don’t we get accounted while we make our way there. What is your name?”

“It don’t matter” Race said, shrugging off the man’s arm “ ‘is a one time thing.”

The man laughed. A lump instantly rose in Race’s throat, making it hard to breath. He was walking behind Race, looking him up and down, taking in the parts that he liked and focusing on them, making a plan on what he was going to do to the teen once they were alone.

“Well my name is Fernando Porter.”

“I dn’t care.” The end of the plan needed to be ready faster. Race was getting very uncomfortable being around this man. Or Porter, as he had just introduced himself as.

Porter guided Race into a run down tenement house. This, also, jammed pack with people. But they were all men. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, feeling the stared scanning across his body. Some took one look and ignored him, others took a prolonged look, before returning to what they had done. Race crossed his arms tightly across his chest, knowing that, at this time, he needed to seem as small as possible. His quick eyes looked all around the building looking for escape routes, and places that he could sneak out through or hide, if it came to that.

By the time Porter opened a door to a dark room and practically shoved Race into it, he felt like he had a pretty good idea of where he was, and how he was going to get out. The room was small, and stuffy, with no windows. He guessed it used to be a closet before they turned it into a room to an extra person it here. But the tight space would work well with his size. He was small, Porter was not. He should be able to get to the door, unlock it, and slip out without thirty seconds.

A cocky grin spread across his face, this was almost too easy. He would be saving a kid, and get to the track in time for the first race.

But a noise turned his blood to ice. The sound of something heavy and wooden being dragged across the ground.

Race turned around, looking at Porter, his eyes already adjusted to the darkness. A heavy dresser was being pushed against the door. Porter was having a hard time moving it, leaving scratch marks on the floor was it was moved.

“Wha’ you’s doin’?” asked Race, in a panic, backing up as much as he could in such a small space.

“Why, making sure that you can’t get away, obviously,” said Porter, taking off his jacket, and throwing it on the pile of blankets that was on the floor. “Don’t think I didn’t know your plan from the beginning sugar.”

“Don’t call me that” Race shouted, curling his hands into fists, and taking an aggressive stance. He was shaking, terrified. Was this it?

“You have your chance to tell me your real name” Porter had his shirt off, and was working on his pants, taking steps closer to the newsie “now you get that name, sugar.”

Fear stroke deep within Race, looking up and down the man. He was not going to get out of this one. At least not physically. Taking a deep breath, Race said a short prayer to a God his mother believed, and started to talk.

“Look bub,” he tried his hardest to say it as intimidating as possible “you’s really d’n’t want to do this. I got friends in high places, who really d’n’t care abou’ getting thrown into the slammer. And I’s know where you live. So back off.”

The grown man threw his head back in a maniacal laugh, shaking his entire body. Everything in Race fell. He felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to throw up. As his heart rate started to pick up, and head started to panic, Porter returned to look at the teen a toothy grin visible even through the darkness.

“You really think that I am going to let you go?” he said. Lodging at the boy, he wrapped his arms around Race’s waist, holding him tight. All of the air was forced out of his lungs, being crushed at Porter’s grip. His vision went black for a while, as he felt the man lead into his ear, whispering “I let some premium pray go because of you. And I deserve a reward.”

Race felt the man’s hand slid down his chest, slowly, until he got to his inner thighs. Instinctively, he closed his legs. Porter chuckled a little, before lifting up the teens shirt. He twisted Race until he was sitting in his lap, with a still strong grip all around him. A firm hand was clamped over Race’s mouth, preventing him from calling for help.

Leaning in close, Porter dragged his wet, disgusting tongue across Race’s bare chest. He struggled, trying to break free of the man’s grip, making frantic, uncalculated moves to try to get away. Call someone. Hurt Porter in some way that would make him STOP.

Hot tears started to stream down Race’s face, hearing the repulsive man slipping down his pants. After that, it was all a blur of pain, fear and shame, crushing the newsie under it’s weight.


	2. Smoke and rooftops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things, generally, just go to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a minute. I'm going to try to get better with updates, but no promises.
> 
> Also, I had too many plot points so expect another Newsies fic later on. It will have nothing to do with this, but I'm going to try to finish my Saiki fic first before working on that one ((on promises on that either)).

Race did not go to the track that day. By the time Porter ...let him go the sun was setting. His skin crawled with bugs that he could not shake. A permanent shiver stayed with him all the way through the slow walk back to the lodging house.

Bruises littered his entire body. Broken blood vessels contrasted with his, now, pale skin. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, still high off of the adrenaline. All bones and joints ached with every step. He wanted to slip out of his skin, like dirty clothes and put on something that was going to make him more comfortable.  


But he was stuck with this skin, until the day he died. The only thing that kept him moving forward was the fact that he knew he could take a bath.

But the smell. Of a dirty, ravenously deprived, sweaty man on top of him was going to be with him...for who knows how long. It was the reason that Race was on the verge of tears all the way home. The things that Porter had whispered in his ear echoed through his empty, hollow skull. The only thing that interrupted it was a shake from Kid Blink.

“Race!” he yelled, placing his arm on top of Race’s shoulder. The contact made him jump way more than was appropriate. He pulled back, protective wrapping his arms around himself, and looking to the ground, refusing to look at who had touched him. If Porter was going to do it again, he would rather not have to look at the face that was going to be in his nightmares.

“Race?” Blink’s soft voice was what drew him off of the verge of a panic attack. Slowly, he looked up at his best friend. Quicky, Race forced himself to open his stance into his normal posture. It hurt. But he needed to keep it a secret. No one could know.

“Yeah” his voice cracked, he tried again “hey, yeah, hey. How’s sellin’?”

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah everythin’s fine, I’s tired. I’a rough day at da tracks.”

“Every days is a rough day.”

“D’n’t I’s know it, pal.”

They kept up the idle conversation all the way back to the lodging house. They got there just in time for dinner. Kloppman tried to provide for the boys as much as he could. Making beds as cheap as he could, giving them thin blankets to keep warm, and helping Jack, and Race, with other points of finances, if they needed it; other than that, he left them alone, understanding their ruling system and relationships with other boroughs. And he provided dinner with the money he collected. While is sustained the younger kids pretty well, it was never enough for the older boys and they had to buy some of their own food. But it was something that they did not have to buy themselves so they were grateful.

It was mostly oatmeal, slightly damp, and sticky with no flavor. But to the starving newsies, it was the best thing to eat after a long day.  


All except for Racetrack. He spent a little too much time checking on the smaller kids, slowly scooping his portion out to them, in a way that none of the other newsies were going to notice. His stomach growled every time he gave away food, and he had to press his arms firmly against it to make it stop. No matter how much trouble it gave him, Race could not bring himself to eat.

The night dragged on, his and Jack’s nightly duties of making sure the small kids got to bed a certain time ensued. Making sure they combed their hair, too as much of a bath as they could, and take off their outer layers, tucking them in and telling them a story.

“What kind’a story you’s want?” Race asked, lifting Gravel into one of the top bunks. He was light, and Race was strong, muscles developed from living on the streets for all of his life. But after he crawled into the bed, his arms ached, so much that they fell to his side without his control. Quickly he sat on the side of the bed, a sudden dizzy spell overtaking him, forcing himself to talk to cover it up “how’s about a fairy tale?”

“Did anything exciting happen at the track today Race?” Shoe said, tucking himself deeper under the thin covers.

Race swallowed, trying to keep his face from falling. It must have failed, because Shoe’s face fell as well, shrinking into himself like he had said something wrong.

“Yeah” Race quickly corrected himself, ignoring how high pitched his voice had become out of anxiety “yeah, so there was this one fella, ya see…..”  


___

“They’s all asleep?” asked Jack, stepping outside of the bunk room with Race, shutting the door as quietly he could make the old, creaky wood.

“Yeah,” said Race, rubbing the back of his neck, a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. He needed to be alone. Even just keeping himself upright was taking all of his energy.

“You doing alright?” asked Jack, gesturing with his head to Race’s hand “you’s shakin’.”

“Oh yeah,” he lied, shoving his hands onto the faded checkered pants, there was nothing ‘alright’ about him “just long day. You know how it is.”

“Don’t I,” Jack dropped the subject, his bullshit answer seemed to be enough. “The boys are probably playin’ some poker. Want to clean them out?”

The thought of hanging out with any people made Race sick to his stomach. His eyelids were on the verge of shutting, and he really just wanted tomorrow to come as fast as possible. Maybe it would take away the horrible today.

“Nah,” he said after pretend thinking about it “I thi’k I might just go for a walk, n’ take a smoke.”

“Alright, get home at a reasonable time.”

“No promises.”  


___  


The cold air stung against Race’s crawling skin. Dark alleys made him jump, and all looming figure was Porter. He was at his wit’s end, and really just needed to calm down, so the remedy was sitting on top of the highest building that he could find, and sitting with his back to something so nothing could sneak up on him. He allowed the nicotine to encase his lungs, holding it in for as long as he could before letting the cloud out.

The wall of anxiety and stress that was wrapped around his brain started to fall, chip by chip before he was fully relaxed by the drug. But the trauma was still embedded deep within his mind. The smell was still in his nose. Invisible hands keep touching all around his body. A none existent voice kept whispering horrible sweet things into his ear.  


He had not processed it himself, not having any time. But here, where Race was not around any of the kids who looked up to him as a strong leader or Jack who needed him to hold down the fort, the weight of everything crashed down on him.

All air left his brain, and he was left with a pile of much and a boatload of…..of…..

He broke.

Hot, scared tears streamed down his face. He pressed at the bruises all around, trying to ground himself in the pain. All they did serve as a catalyst to take him away. Ugly sobs and broken whimpers escaped him, even after covering his mouth, the voice of his father saying “boys don’t cry” loud and clear in his mind. Holding up his limbs became a chore, so he let his body just lay there, only lifting his arm to intake more nicotine.

Porter was fresh in his mind, holding him down, touching, licking, biting, hitting. He was there. And he was crying. Sobbing. Begging. Weak and broken he begged for him to stop. A thick layer of sweat over every inch of his body. A crushing weight on top of him, pinning him down, collapsing his lungs. Every breath hurt. It would be easier to just….disspear.  


The thought was slight and fleeting, almost ignorable before he noticed the sun was starting to come up over the horizon, and he needed to get back to the lodging house. Wiping the salty tears from his eyes, he pulled his aching body from the cold concrete, not an ounce of heat left in it. All around him were dozens of cigarette butts, two empty packs, and matches, everywhere. He was hot and cold at the same time. Thee cold morning air taking a hold of the sweat all over him, making it even colder.

Race pulled the flimsy vest tighter around his waist, before standing up. Immediately, he was almost forced back down. He held onto the wall for dear life, trying to not fall from dizziness. The spell passed and he was able to tell which way was down again. The events from yesterday playing again in the back of his mind. Race climbed down, and walked back to the lodging house, trying his best to mentally prepare himself for the day ahead of him. His body felt less sore, at least a little bit, but it was all so, so much worse.


	3. He Doing Alright?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small chapter. I'll post later. Sorry it has been so long. I am going to finish this fic. Just need to find time to work on it. More updates later.

“Good morning Race” said Davey, glancing at the Italian teen as he passed behind him. Davey was always so polite “missed you at the poker game last night, Jack here actually had a chance.”

“Yeah, you would know Mouth, I cleaned you out” reported Jack, playfully smacking him in the arm.

“You were here yesterday?” Race asked, not a single emotion in his voice. There were dark circles under his eyes, deeper than normal. He looked like a mess, and did not smell any better. Jack remember not seeing the teen when he had gone to bed, but now seeing that response.

“Yeah” said Davey, shooting a concerned look to Jack “Les and I were both here. I said ‘hi’ to you yesterday?”

“Yeah, and you told us the story about tha fella yesterday” shouted Les from across the room.

Racetrack visibly flinched at the comment by the young Jacobs. Jack tensed up. Race looked like he was going to collapse at any moment, and the Cowboy needed to be ready to catch him.

“Tha man you cleaned out” finished Les, before he returned to his game with Romeo.

“Oh, yeah, dat man” Race said with a sigh, slurring his words together, more relieved than he should be. David and Jack exchanged looks.

“Ya alright?” asked Jack, taking a step towards Race. He took a step backwards. “When did you get back yesterday?”

“Didn’t.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Race. Out all night getting some” shouted Mush.

Race let out a tired laugh before Jack had a chance to talk. “Yeah. yeah. That’s what happened. I’ma go help t’a kiddos."

Race stumbled up the stairs, leaving Mush, Jack and David to stare in awe of the boy who always had a clever retort.

“Hey Race” shouted Mush after him, knowing that he said something wrong “I didn’t mea….”

“It’s alright Mush” Race shouted back, a little bitterness in the back of his throat before he disappeared behind the corner.

“I didn’t mean it” Mush defended himself turning to Jack.

“It’s alright Mush” reassured Jack “I’ll talk to him. Go ahead and get your papes.”

Mush left the dingy house without another word, the way Race was acting rolling over in his head.

“What’s that about?” asked Davey, turning his attention back to the Cowboy who sat across from him.

“No idea” he admitted. There was nothing that lead up to this. Sure, he had been acting a little weird last night, but nothing THAT out of the ordinary. Nothing that would warrant this kind of behavior. Even snapping at Mush, one of his closest friends at the lodge.

“He might be stressed” suggested Davey, “it’s only been a few weeks after the strike is over. He might just now be processing it.”

“Yeah” Jack commented, making sure David knew that he was being listened to “I’ll talk to him.”

His eyes locked onto Higgins, making his way to exit the lodging house, standing up quickly to make sure that he did not miss him. Davey stood up with him, and the whole house migrated together, making sure to get to the gates on time.

“Hey Race, wait up” shouted Jack, pushing past all of the other newsies, before he was side by side with the gambler. Race tensed up a little when Jack came up behind him, and did not relax even after he saw who it was.

“Hey,” a small bit of the snappy teen was back, but not a lot of it.

“Everything alright?” asked David, going to the other side of the boy.

“Yeah, why d’ ya ask?”

“You’s just seem more on edge, tha’s all” said Jack “we thought it might be the stress from the strike, or something, and just wanted to make sure you’re ok.”

Something seemed to click in Race’s mind. His poster fixed and turned to look at the leader of Manhattan. Then he burst out laughing. His entire body shook with laughter, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Yeah Jack, m’ fine” he gasped, after the laughing spell passed, wiping tears from his eyes “just tired fro’ yesterday.”

Mentally, Jack let out a deep sign, Race was alright. They continued to the gates, telling various stories between the three, occasionally Jack and Race would talk about their leadership duties and what they needed to do for the next few weeks. His second was alright, and that was all that he needed to know. Without Race, Jack knew that there was no way that he would be able to take care of all of the boys at the lodge.

Racetrack was his second in command, after all. But he was more of a brother. And as long as he was ok, so would everything else.


	4. Mantra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not abandoned, just writing is hard.

It was about midday, around the time when the boys would go back to the distribution center, and collect the evening edition. Racetrack would make his way to the tracks to hassle people who had the time and money to be at the tracks in the middle of the day.

Everything that Jack had told him earlier that day rolled over in his mind. But it was not the words that stuck with him, it was the fact that he had caused people to notice. Jack had felt it necessary to talk to him, make sure that he was ok. And that was not something that he should be concerned with. The leader of Manhattan already had enough on his plate, with the wind-down of the strike, making sure the Politzer was following through with his plans, and having to worry about Snyder again, because money can buy anything, not mentioning the normal stresses of being a leader.

Race knew that things were starting to get tense between the different boroughs because of the strike that Manhattan started and Brooklyn helped with. He was sure that Spot was not that concerned, considering his reputation, but Jack certainly was. They did not have the resources for a war, and it would turn the entire city against the newsies, the last thing that they needed so soon after a strike. So Race’s small problems would stay his own. He walked down the street, dodging people left and right, feeling the movement of his sore body, the bruises still all over his skin, he vowed that he was not going to tell anyone. Jack had enough problems and did not need his.

He let out a breath, trying to feel like a hero. Like he was doing something right, that he was helping. But a weight was laid on his chest. It felt way too familiar, and he quickly started to pinch himself, forcing himself to stay on the ground. He did not have time to freak out right now. 

Pulling off his cap, and running a hand through his short brown hair, Race kept walking, crossing the bridge into Brooklyn and to the tracks.

_It was all just a dream_ he thought, looking at the water that flowed under the bridge _Porter does not exist. It was all just a horrible dream. Nothing to freak out about. None of it happened. None of it happened. None…._

The coins jingled heavily in Race’s pockets, as he lit a cigar, bringing down his nerves from a long day. Jack never liked it when he smoked around the young kids so he had to get it out of his system before he got back to the lodge. Somehow, he had been able to win some, even though it looked like the horse he had bet on was going to lose. It was nerve-wracking and he did not have the energy for it.

But it was money that he did not have half a day previously, and that is what mattered. The nicotine started to do its work and he felt himself starting to relax. The sun was almost behind the horizon by the time he was at the bridge, and that made him stop.

Fresh memories played back in his mind. The smell. The fear. The weight on top of him.

With a vigorous shake of his head, Race trudged on, repeating his mantra in his head, allowing the shadows of Manhattan to overtake his small frame. He walked slower than he normally did, trying to avoid the darkest parts of the streets. Panic started to rise in his throat. He had half a mind to sleep on the streets of Brooklyn.

The sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump and pull back, quickly turning to face his attacker.

“Whoa, ya’ ok ther’ bub?” asked Spot Conlon, raising his hands on defense.

Race cursed himself for having such a dramatic reaction.

“Yeah,” he said, relaxing in front of the king “j’st stressful day.”

“You and Jack feelin’ the pressure from the other boroughs?”

He had completely forgotten about that raising problem. The young Italian teen could feel a headache coming on, and groaned a little at the mention of the problem.

“I feel that,” said Spot, starting to walk with Race towards Manhattan “gettin’ a little too itchy for my taste.”

“ You’s got more news?” Race asked. Spot’s presence was oddly calming, he could feel the anxiety melting away.

“Bronx is startin’ to build up somethin’. That’s what word on the street. And Queens is getting desperate. Staten Island stayin’ out of all of it, which’s fine by me. One less borough to worry about.”

“Do you’s really think they’s would start a war?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them, da bastards.”

They had stopped right before Manhattan. The bridge walk seemed shorter than normal, and more enjoyable, at least by Race’s standards.

Race turned to look at the Brooklyn leader. The moonlight hit him in a way that brought out his shining brown hair, and eyes. Lazy, Spot leaned against the bridge railing, shifting his cane to the other hand, looking out to the sea.

“ ‘s all a mess” he said, in a dry tired voice.

“Yeah,” said Race, joining him. As short as Spot was, Race was still a little shorter than he was, but he was not insecure about his high as the Brooklyn leader was. Being short was just an Italian thing.

He enjoyed this moment, just looking out at the East River, watching the water being pushed and moved by the ships that moved around on it. It shone in the moon, reflecting the light in a shining way. Race looked between the water and Spot, trying to find the difference between the two shines.

“Where were you’s yesterday?” asked Spot, not taking his gaze off of the river.

The question struck Race like a punch, and he felt terror start to overtake his being, pulling him down into a dark void. The darkness surrounding him, and seeping inside of him, jumbling up his insides until he felt like he was going to hurl. Quickly, he pinched his wrist as hard as he could, trying desperately to drag himself out of the thick darkness.

_Porter does not exist. He is not real. He is not real. It was all just a dream. It was all just a dream. It was all just…._

“You’s alright?” Spots voice pulling him through the surface, and he could form half a thought again. His voice still has an edge to it, but softer than it normally was. Race felt his   
heart melt a little.

“Yeah” trying is the best attempt at a nonchalant voice, Race spoke, “Jack needed some help with lodge so I had to stay behind.”

Spot nodded, accepting the answer, before turning back to the river. Race followed suit. They stayed in silence for a while. Just watching the river, allowing the moisture to cleanse their faces. It felt nice and cold, even with the incoming winter that was starting to cool down the city. The lights from the ships pulled Race out of his thoughts, reminding him that he needed to get back to Manhattan. But that meant that he had to walk through the dark streets. Alone.

Fears started to creep up on him, latching onto his shoulders and making them feel heavy. The streets that were as familiar and ‘safe’ like the back of his hand were pathed with nightmares. The thought of walking them alone was almost too much.

Until he looked at the Brooklyn boy next to him. His reputation preceded him, being the toughest newsie in the entire city. He could take a punch, even from adults, Race had seen the teen defend and protect his boys on numerous occasions. He would be more than enough to make Race feel safe until he got back to the lodging house.

He opened his mouth, just for a second, before he closed it again. There was no way that he could ask the teen to chaperone him through his own city. He was the second in command, this should be the last place that he should be afraid of. And, knowing for a fact that Spot had seen him fight, he did not want to explain why he wanted someone to be with him.

Instead, he sucked in a breath and decided to get it over with as soon as possible.

“ I’s should be headin’ back to ‘Hatton, or Jack’ll hava’ fit.”

“Tch, got to get back or ya’ mamma Jack’ll be mad at ya.’ “

“Na got to get back so’s I can put the little’s ta bed.”

“Oh, it is about that time huh?”

“Yeah.”

Race pushed off from the railing, turning to make his way to the city.

“You going to the races tomorrow?” Spot shouted after him. Race lifted a thumbs up over his head and kept walked. That’s what normal Race would have done.

As soon as he was sure that he was out of Spot’s sight, Race broke into a frantic and disoriented run. His feet tripped over nothing, and his mind spun with panic. Fear. Overtaking his entire body. The smell. It started to manifest itself. The pressure was being put on top of his entire body. Faster. Need to go faster.

Memories started to come to the front of his mind.

_Bury them._

Invisible hands started to rub up and down his chest, back, legs, thighs….

_They don’ exist._

The darkness started to wrap around him, into a suffocating grasp.

_Run faster!_

Race burst into the lodging-house door, slamming the door behind him, and pressing his back against it, keeping the monsters on the outside.

_You’s home_ Racer he thought, looking down at his worn shoes, sweat dripping off of his face. _You’s arlight. Porter does not exist. It was all just a dream._

He looked up, the surprised faces of the newsies greeting him. He stood up straight, running his hand through his hair, and readjusting his cap.

“Whose ready for bed?” he asked, scooping u one of the littles into his arms, and tickling them. The others followed the second up the stairs and the boarding room, the older kids smirking to themselves and returned to what they were doing. The night activities resumed as normal, as Race and Jack set to work on getting the littles to bed.

Everything was fine. Race was fine, and everything had been a dream. Nothing more and nothing less. As long as his family was ok, he would be ok, and they would keep out the monsters in his head that threatened to tear him to shreds.


	5. A Feeling Hard to Describe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about the yearning!  
> A break from the angst, to bring you some fluff. Just a little bit though.

Spot smacked himself across the face a few times, trying to convince himself that the blood that had rushed to his face had not been because of the gambler that he had walked to Manhattan. He was a few blocks away from his own Brooklyn lodging house and knew that he had to have his normal tough persona up or else. While he was feared by the rest of the cites, his newsies knew that he was a softy, and would tease him about anything they could get their hands on.

So, him coming home with a red face, and anything less than a war story would warrant relentless teasing that would last until Jack Kelly decided to stop dreaming about Santa Fe.  
Besides, Race was nothing to Spot, just a gambler who, sometimes, crossed the border between Manhattan and Brooklyn to get to the tracks and hustle. He was damn good at poker and had had his share of fights, holding his own in every single one. And he was a cocky son of a bitch, with a heart of gold to all of the newsies in Manhattan, Spot could easily see why Jack chose him to be his second. And, ok, he was a pretty attractive teen, with his short, dark brown hair, almost black, and always crooked smirk. His hat that was always a little off, and sparkling brown eyes that were so easy to get lost in.

So Spot liked the way that Race looked, that was no big deal. That meant nothing. But it’s not that Race just looked nice, he was funny, and had an edge to him that made him interesting to be around, and….

_God Spot, what has gotten into you?_

“Alright, get ta bed ya little shits” shouted the Brooklyn leader pushing open the door of the lodging house. He could see that Hot-Shot, his second, had already herding all of the littles together and to bed. A few ran past him, shrieking, before disappearing into the sleeping room. The second was behind them, leaning against the door frame. He was significantly taller than the leader, although that did not mean much, his buff arms hanging outside of his sleeveless shirt. His dull green eyes shone through the semi-dark house, like a cat watching its prey. Only, Hot-Shot knew that Spot could, and would, take him down without breaking a sweat. And he was ok with that.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” his second asked, a smirk over his face that said ‘I know what you have been doing and who you have been thinking about.’

“Fine” he turned and followed some of the littles into the crowded bedroom, ready to tuck them in for the night.

“Get inta’ bed” he shouted through the room, standing in the doorway, arms behind his back, holding onto his beloved cane. The sound of giggling and shuffling of the kids are they crawled into their cheap beds, under thin blankets, and huddled together for warmth.

After a moment of silence, Spot blew out the candles, that were the only lights in the room, and grabbed onto the door handle, and closed the door.

“Fight on Brooklyn,” he said into the room, before closing the door all the way. He smiled a little, hearing the saying being repeated back to him by a half a dozen or so of small Brooklyn newsies.

“I’m turnin’ in for ta’ night,” Spot bearly looked at his second, before heading up to his private room, at the very most top of the lodging house.

“Too stressful of a day?” questioned Hot-Shot, following the short teen as he walked, briskly, to the staircase.

“Yeah,” said Spot, a dreamy hang on his voice, leaning a little on the railing “it was.”

That was enough to satisfy his second. Hot-Shot let a congratulatory glance, before walking into the main room to play poker with the older newsies.

Spot closed the door of his room, leaning his cane on the wall right next to the door, before flopping onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. He felt his face imminently blush as his thoughts returned to the reckless gambler from Manhattan. The fearless leader of Brooklyn feel asleep, thoughts full of Race, hoping, praying, that, one day, he would be able to confess, and not get his heart completely broken.

Jack Kelly tucked in the last little into bed, looking over his shoulder to see Race doing the same. They both back, silently, out of the room, and closed the door. Both let out a sigh of relief, knowing that they had a few hours to do whatever they wanted before they were too exhausted, and needed to hit the hay as well.

Jack looked over to his second, going him a once over, a force of habit, just to make sure that he was ok. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, his clothes were closer around his body, and covering more of his skin, but it was getting colder outside, so it was not too odd. His arms were crossed over his chest, not in a relaxed, or dominating way, but in a more productive way. Like was trying to keep himself from something. Was that normal? Did Race always have his arms crossed?

“Well, I’m going to beat Al in poker, wanna’ to join?” Race’s nonchalant cocky voice pulled Jack out of his worried ‘I need to dad all of these kids’ state and looked back at his second.

_Yeah, he is alright. He would tell me if he was not alright. Besides, it’s my time off._

“Na, I got somethin’ ta do” Jack replied.

The gambler shrugged, before making his way downstairs, fiddling with the cards that were always in his pocket. Were his shoulders always that slumped?

Jack shook the thought out of his head, before heading up to the fire escape, climbing out of the window, closing it behind him, and climbing the rest of the way to the roof of the lodging house. there, waiting patiently, was a particular brunette, gentle, messy curls piled on top of his head, and falling around his face. A grin spread across Jack’s face as soon as he saw the outline, taking a step closer to his newfound lover.

“Hey, there,” he said, plopping down next to the teen, “ya’ come by her ofte’?”

“Shut it,” David said, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on the sky.

“Keep ya’ waitin’?”

“No, not long. Besides, you have to take care of all those kids down there.”

“Yeah” Jack sighed, laying down on the roof, putting both hands under his head. “Get’s exhaustin’ sometimes. But, havin’ Race is a’ lifesaver.”

“You think he’s alright?” David joined the cowboy, laying down.

“Yeah. ‘M one of his best friends. He could come ta me if somethin’ was upsettin’ him. He knows that. Must just be stress.”

David hummed in agreement.

The two stayed in silence for a little while before Jack reached for the boy’s hand, taking it in his own, intertwining their fingers together. His heart jumped in his chest as soon as they did, just like the first time he had set his eyes on the walking mouth. He looked over at the curly hairs teen next to him, studying every feature about his face, neck, and   
chest, admiring it all.

_God, he’s perfect._

“Jack?” asked Davey, turning a little to met his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still want to go out to Santa Fe?”

The questions had been wracking around in Jack’s brain for the past few weeks as well. On one hand, he still felt like he wanted a change of scene, getting out, seeing the world, just something to get out of New York. But, then there was David. And all of the kids who relied on him for support. And the fact that the city did not feel as crowded as it had been in the past.

“I dunno. I don’t” Jack looked over to his lover. Hurt lined those brown eyes that he loved so much. “But, for right now, ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Good,” the other boy said, in a very ‘matter a fact’ tone. Jack chuckled a little at the tone, only stopping when he was shot a deadly glare.

They continued to talk about idle things, how their day went, even if they did sell together for most of it, how the other boys were doing, and how David’s family was doing. Nothing too important or deep, but that was alright. They were both tired, so light conversation and each other’s company is exactly what they needed.

“Oh, there was something,” said Davey, shooting up to a sitting position, after the conversation died down a little.

“What?” Jack followed his lead.

“I’m going back to school.”

Jack’s heart stopped, just for a second. Looking deep into those brown eyes he had fallen in love with. They were vibrant with excitement. Electricity shot itself through the teen’s body as he scrambled to stand up.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah” tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Davey, that’s amazing!” he grabbed his hands, pulling the boy to his feet “you’re going to be able to get a degree. You can get out of here. You can go places!”

“Father found a job that does not need two arms, and I’ll still be working evenings and weekends, but yeah.”

“Holy shit!”

Jack grabbed David’s face, pressing their lips together. He felt the other boy melt into the kiss, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling the two closer to each other.

Slowly, Jack pulled them apart, looking at the tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away with his thumb, incredible pride in his chest, but could not help but feel the love he had for the studious boy grow a little bit.

“You’re going to do amazing,” he said, dropping his hands from Davey’s face to shoulders, to hands, holding the soft hands in his own calloused hands. “I mean, afta’ all, you’s the smartest person I know. You show those fancy, rich bums what a ‘Hatton kid can do.”

“I’ll try my best,” David replayed, rolling his eyes, before he leaned in for another kiss, pressing his lips gently against the Manhattan leaders.

Jack lost himself in the David, sinking into the feeling, not wanting to let go for the rest of the night. His smart boyfriend was going back to school. He was going to have a future. He was going places. And he could not be more proud.


	6. Breaking Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things just keep getting worse.

The bell rung loudly in Race’s ear, but it was a useless thing, he had not slept a wink last night. Maybe dozing off for ten minutes or so, but always woken up by the horrifying face of the person he was trying to convince himself that did not exist.

Sluggishly, he pulled himself out of his cheap bed and pulled his worn shoes over his feet. Everything was so much sorer than it had been the day before. His hips burned, his inner thighs had been rubbed raw, making it hurt to walk, and his back felt like it was going to snap in half. He swallowed the nauseous feeling and stood up. A ripple of pain shot through his entire body, but he forced himself to walk anyways, there was not any choice. He had to make sure that the littles got out to the distribution center on time. Winter was always hard, and they needed as much money as possible to keep going.

“Get up, ya snot,” said Race, shaking Romeo awake, before walking out the door to all of the other kids, rushing around, putting on their clothes, more or less brushing their teeth, and making themselves at least a little presentable. Jack Kelly was around as well, moving from one disaster to another, defusing fires faster than they could start.

The older kids, normally, stayed in bed for a little longer, taking a little less time to get ready than the littles did, and did not want to get in Races or Jack’s way as they did help the other kids out.

Race let out a shaky sigh, banishing Porter from his mind, and proceeded to help Shoe button up his shirt right.

The morning continued as normal, they ate what little breakfast Kloppman, Jack, and Race could provide, and they were off to the distribution center. The nuns were right on time, meeting them halfway to hand out watery coffee and rolls before they got their paper and started working the crowd. Race turned his roll over in his hand. It had been twenty-four hours since he had eaten anything, and the hunger was starting to get to him. His stomach caved in on itself, growling and hurting, trying to tell him that he needed to eat.

“Here ya go kid,” he said, handing it off to Les when they met him and Mouth at the center. Davey and Jack were too busy with each other to notice. He let out a sigh of relief.

_Good, ‘m not causin’ anyone trouble._

The process of getting his papers, and starting to make his way to the tracks was a blur and, before he knew it, he was on the bridge making is the daily commute to Brooklyn. The waters below flowed gently, reminding him of the person he had shared the view with yesterday. The felt himself blush a little, pulling his hat lower to hit the red tint in his face.

Something about Spot was so…..enticing. Sure, head the reputation of being the biggest, and badest newsie in New York and his Brooklyn boys could soak anyone faster than Davey’s tongue. But he had a more soft side to him, something that Race had only discovered by going to Brooklyn more. The way he interacted with his newsies, it was caring and gentle. And he was attractive. His dirty blonde hair, and deep blue eyes, and ok sure, Race had caught himself staring at his lips a few times, and imagined how they must taste.

But now…..

Now he had no shot with the King oF Brooklyn. Not to mention that Racetrack had no idea if he swung that way, but that was not the biggest problem.

No, Race was dirty now.

He was unlovable.

There was no way that he was going to be loved by anyone.

It was only a matter of time before Jack found and kicked him out of the lodging house, and he would be on the streets again, with no money, or family. So he had to work extra hard to make sure that they still loved and care about him, and did not leave him once they discovered what he was.

_A whore._

Race swallowed hard at the word. That was what his father had called his mother, and he had seen what happened first hand to whores. And now he was one. He clenched his papers harder out of stress. He needed to work harder. He needed the Manhattan newsies want to keep him.

So he was going to work himself to the bone if he needed to. He just did not want to be alone. Because that was when he was vulnerable. That was when the monsters started to mess with him. And god knew that he could not take very much of that.

Selling had been slow, but profitable, and Race was walking back to Manhattan, the money shaking in his pocket. Near the entrance of the bridge as the infamous strongest newsie in all of New York.

“How was sellin’?” asked Spot.

“Eh, ya win some, ya lose some.”

“Yeah, people be out less and less, ‘specially as it gets colder.”

“Speak for you’self. People flock to the tracks when it gets cold. Something about cabin fever or somethin’.”

“Huh, maybe I should give betten’ a go, if it’s so hot with cash.”

“Oh, na ya do’t. Find your own cash cow.”

“My turf, I get’s to do what I want’s.”

Race laughed a little at the dumb joke, feeling the heat come to his face, sinking his face deeper into his shirt to try to hide. Hoping that Spot had not seen anything. Apparently not, as they continued with idol conversations about this and that, but, ultimately, they ended back up at the tensions.

“The Bronx is starten’ to get on my nerves,” said Spot, tightening his grip around his cane a little “they’s starten’ to send their boys over here to sell, some even with protection to take out any my boys who try to kick ‘em out. They’s on the verge of a war, and it seems like the thin’ that they want. So I’m wonderin’....”

He turned and look at Race.

“Is ‘Hatton in if we get too deep inta this?”

Race knew that Spot was securing his allies. That he knew that, if everything went south, that they would have someone to back them up. It was smart. And he knew that Jack would be doing the same if they were in Brooklyn’s position.

“Yeah, we got you’s back,” he said with a smile.

“I’m serious Race” Spot grabbed his shoulders, forcing the Italian to look at him “this could be serious. The Bronx has been building up somethin’ big and I need to know who’s on my side.”

“And I'm serious as well. Manhattan is with you. Helped us with the strike after all. Kinda makes us allies.”

Spot smirked, letting go of the gambler, and kept walking down the bridge. Race swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that Spot had left in his throat. He shook the red color out of his face, before running to catch up with the Brooklyn leader.

“See ya tomorrow,” said Spot, patting him on the shoulder as he turned back to his borough. The walk was over way too soon, and his only protection was walking away. Part of him wanted to scream back, yell for Spot to not leave him, as he looked into the dark city, unable to see through the streets. He froze with fear, long after Spot’s footsteps disappeared across the bridge.

_There’s nothing to be afraid of Race with that thought he started into the shadowed streets you’s were fine yesterday, and you’ll be fine today. Besides Porter does not exist. He’s never existed, and he never will. You’s fine. Everythin’ is just in your head. Everythin’ is just in your head. Everything….._

Something grabbed onto his arm, pulling him into a nearby ally. His back got pushed against the rough brick wall. He closed his eyes out of reflex, feeling tears starting to collect in them.

“Hey there doll,” the sickening smooth voice of Porter seeped into his mind.

_No, that’s not possible! He doesn’t exist._

“You don’t exist!” yelled Race, opening his eyes, just a little bit, catching a glips of the man who tormented every moment of his life. A moment was too much. “You don’t exist!   
You don’t exist! You. Don’t. Exist!”

Race started to thrash around his arms and legs going everywhere. All the years of being a street kid, and learning how to fight went out the window, he was fighting for his life. He yelled at the top of his lungs, hoping and praying that someone - Jack, Spot, Albert anyone! - would care enough to help.

“Calm down there doll” Porter put his hand under his chin, pulling his head up, forcing the boy to look at him “I’m just here to have a little fun.”

“No!” Race shrieked, pushing the adult out of his way, and spilling out of the ally. Terror gripped his entire body as he ran, ran, ran. Everything was moving in a blur, his head pounded with adrenaline. Salty tears streaked down his face. The air was hard to take into his lungs, straining his body to take another breath. The sound of Porter close behind him echoed through his panicking head.

_No no no no-no-no. Please. Not today. Please god, no. I can’t! Not again. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t_

The lodging-house came into view, like a light at the end of his hell-like tunnel. He forced himself to run faster, latching onto the handle, and slamming the door behind him.

Tears kept flowing down his face, but he did try to silence the sobs that were rising in his throat with a firm hand over his mouth. His mind was mush, it was impossible to hold onto a single thought besides terror and panic. Fear was everywhere, so when someone placed a hand on his shoulder, it was no wonder that he turned around swinging, landing a solid punch at the person who touched him.

“Race! What tha hell?” yelled Albert, holding the place his best friend hand punched him.

Racetrack looked at the boy he had punched, his fist still extended. He knew that there were tears in his eyes, and he could feel the eyes of all the other boys around him.  
Eyes, staring at him. Just like Porter had, taking in every part of his body. Scanning. Touching. He was dirty. There was no way that he was going to be clean.

_Clean._

_Water._

_Bath._

“Race!” someone was shaking him, in the distance he could feel it. His vision started to work again, lifting his gaze from the ground to the boy in front of him, shaking him. He had a blue shirt on, neatly parted hair, and a stupid red bandana around his neck.

“Jack….” it was more of a whisper than actual words.

Everyone was looking at him. He needed to play it off. He needed to make sure that they did not know. No one could ever know. They would stop loving him if they did.

“Hey, those are some pretty shit reflexes, Albert,” he said, forcing his normal smirk and sarcastic voice. He pushed past Jack, and to his best friends, still holding his face “better try again next time.”

Albert looked at the gambler for a second, before bursting out into laughter, holding himself up with his knees. Soon the entire room joined in, no one sure what they were laughing at. Race forced a full-on belly laugh, no matter how much it hurt, before wiping the tears from his eyes and heading up to the bunk room to make sure all of the littles were asleep.

As soon as he as around the corner, the dizziness hit and he placed a hand on the wall to keep himself up.

This was bad. This was oh so very bad.


	7. Can't Fix What You Don't Know is Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can only hide for so long.

“Race! We need to talk!” Jack’s voice boomed over the entire building.

Race finished drying his face, before securing his hat on his head and grabbing his vest, slipping it on. There was a weight in his chest. Normally Jack raising his voice would shake him, especially when it was directed at him, but, right now. He did not care. It was hard to care. And he was so incredibly tired. He had not been able to sleep for days. Every time he closed his eyes, Porter would be there, holding him down. Food was also hard to keep down. He was used to not eating for a day or two, but it was creeping up on three days, and he knew that his stomach would start to protest its neglect soon. 

The second followed the leader of Manhattan out to the ally beside the lodging house, hands shoved in his pockets, and eyes cast down to the floor. He could not bear to see that disappointed look in Jack’s eyes. Not right now. Not while he was still filthy.

“What the hell were you thinking?” yelled Jack, as soon as they were alone. “You just punched someone, for absolutely no reason. I know you get into fights, but nothing like that. You were not holding back, not even a little bit. You can see a perfect indentation of your fist on his jaw! Do you know how much that is going to affect his sales? No one is going to buy from a newsie who looks like he gets into fights, you know that. So what the hell were you thinking?!”

Race could no think of what to say. He did not have an answer better than “I wasn’t thinking” because he wasn’t. Fear had clouded his vision so much that he could not tell who was Porter and who his friends were. But Jack didn’t need to know that. It would just be a burden when he already had so many things to think about, like how they were going to get through winter and the rising tensions between the boroughs. So he just shrugged, keeping his eyes locked on the ground.

“That’s not good enough Race” Jack yelled, pulling him in by his collar. Race flinched, and terror struck through him. He was back in that room, with that man, and he was not ready for that again. Jack noticed it was hard not to. “Race….”

“I got into a fight” he lied. Giving an explaining was the only way to get Jack to leave him alone. “Some guy couldn’t pay his bet, so I went to collect. He had a few of his buddies with ‘im, and got out of hand, and I had to run away. It was just leftover nerves. ‘Its it Jack, honest.”

Jack looked him over, from the top of his head down. It sounded likely enough, and Race was just hoping that he would just take it and leave him alone. He needed to get back to the tracks and sell, standing around here was not going to get them through winter. But, more than anything, he wanted to be alone, to be away from Jack. To be away from everyone. He was filthy, no one was going to love him once they figured out what had happened. The more time he spent away, the less likely that they would find out.

“Alright,” said Jack, after a long pause. Race let out the breath he did not realize he had been holding. “But, don’t let anything like this ever happen again. Understand me?”  
Race nodded his head a little, waiting for the leader to back up. He did but kept his eyes on his second until he turned around to go to the distribution center. Race did not follow, at least, not at first. The ally felt safe, and something compelled him to stay. But he knew that he needed to follow, or else Jack would start aking even more questions.

“Oh thank you, you’ve been a help” a familiar voice made Race freeze.

“No problem sir” David’s chipper voice after made him think the worse.

Race broke into a run and followed the voices to the street where all of the boys were getting ready to head to the distribution center. There, right in front of the house, his home, was Porter, talking to the Walking Mouth. David was smiling, before turning and walking with Les and Jack.

Porter made eye contact with the frozen newsie, a horrible smirk over his lips, his slithery small tongue dragging over them.

The joyful laugh of Shoe, Romeo, and Gravel echoed through Race’s mind as he saw they step out of the lodging house, running to meet the others. Porter reached out to them when they ran past them.

A shock ran through his boy. Bolting forward, he grabbed onto Romeo, the one closest to the predator. He pulled the small boy out of the way, scooping him up, his eyes never leaving Porter. He knew that if he took his gaze off of him, even for a second, he might do something to them. And Race would rather die than let that happen.

“Um…..Racer” said Romeo, looking up at the teen he admired so “can you put me down.”

His grip around the boy was tight, strapping him to his chest like he was some kind of priceless family heirloom that was going to break as soon as he let go. Slowly, the second put down the boy, allowing him to run and catch up with his friends. Porter kept his eyes on the teen, fondling the boy with them, mind conjuring up all of the things that he was going to do when he got the boy alone again.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Race with a horrible notion: he was never going to be free. Porter knew where his family was. He knew where they were and if Race resisted him, even just a little bit, he as going to go after the other newsies. He as going to go after the littles. The older kids were strong enough to protect themselves, but the littles…..

Race felt like bursting into tears, sobs welling up in his chest, but stopping at his closed lips. He was going to hurt them if he resisted. Which meant that he was stuck in this hell forever.

Jack tried to stop the events from the morning from rolling around in his head, but it was no use. Even as he shouted the headline off the top of his lungs, Race’s face stuck in the front of his mind. He had been terrified of something. It was not clear if that thing had been Jack or something else, but it was the kind of fear that he had seen in the smalls when one of them had a nightmare.

But Race had not had a nightmare in years, they had stopped a few months after he had joined the newsies. All the kids had bad dreams after they came to the lodging house, even Jack did. He had been there when Race had his. Cobble, the leader of Manhattan before him, had been the only one who had been able to calm him down, rocking him to sleep, while Jack watched from under his sheets. He had sobbed into Cobble’s shirt, making it wet with his tears. It was bad, one of the worst that Jack had ever seen, even after he became the leader and had to take over comforting kids when they were scared. Race helped too, of course, sometimes beating him to the kid’s bed.

Jack smiled a little, recalling how Race would lay next to the kid, telling them how brave they are, and telling stories, made-up ones, of course, but they ranged from reality-based, to complete fantasy. But they always had something in common, he always made the newsies the main characters, which always caused problems. Especially when Jack was asked by one of the littles to reveal the pocket-sized horse that he always had in his paper carrying bag, just in case the city was in danger.

But it had been the second day that Race had been acting weird, and Jack had not meant to yell at him. He was just stressed. Race was supposed to be his second, helping him with keeping the newsies safe, and, at the moment, he was not being very helpful. But, he did not deserve to be yelled at. Jack made a mental note to apologize later. If they did not communicate than the entire lodging house was going to fall apart. But right now, Jack needed to work the crowd and sell some papers.


	8. Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have 0 impulse control. It is, either, multiple chapters in the same day, or nothing for months. There is no in between.

The day had been long, but not nearly long enough, and, before Race knew it, it was time for him to start heading across the bridge, to Manhattan, in the dark. He stood at the entrance of the bridge for a while, just looking, at all of the people who were walking past, with places to be. But it was the looming darkness of the city behind it that made Race shiver with fear.

He had tuned Spot out a while ago, shoulders slumped in, trying to make himself as small as he could. Maybe Porter would not notice him. Maybe he would be saved. It was exhausting to try to hold a thought, to try to pay attention to what was going on around him.

“Race?” a hand was put on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Spot’s eyebrows were knitted together out of worry. While they were almost the same hight, Spot was significantly stronger than Race was. If only he had been stronger than Porter would have never gotten to him. Porter would have never been able to find his family. Porter would have left him alone. Porter would have…..

“Race!” Spot’s voice came again, louder this time, shaking him a bit. He was finally, able to come down to earth, reentering his broken body, and look at the King of Brooklyn. As soon as he did, worry became written all over his face. He could only imagine how he looked. Disgusting street rat. Filthy. Unlovable. “You’s alright?”

They were here, at the entrance of Manhattan. It was dark. Looming. Race knew what was waiting for him in the shadows, and part of him just wanted to run in there are get it over with so he could get back to the lodging house. To make sure that everybody was alright. To make sure that Porter had not gotten any of them. He could take the abuse if it meant that they got left alone. He could take it. Honest.

“Yeah,” he said with a high, shocked a little on how defeated his voice sounded. “Just some guys giving me trouble.”

“Soak em,” Spot said like it was the obvious answer.

Race let out a tired laugh. “I can’t do that. They’ll hurt others if I’s do.”

“Newsies ain’t made of glass. They can take care of themselves. N’ you gots Jack if they needed to be protected. And he’s would be just as upset if you’s got hurt.”  
Spot put both hands on his shoulders and turned Race to look at him.

“You’s can fight back. Theys’ all will be fine.”

Race nodded a little. A spark of hope was lit in his chest, looking into those beautiful eyes. Part of him wanted to grab Spot’s face and pull it to his, kiss him in a desperate act to stay grounded. Just to have someone to hold him, even if he was terrified to contact. But he couldn’t. All he could do was give a thankful smile, and walk away without another word.

He had been permitted to defend himself. And that was what he was going to do. Jack needed to know, so they could defend the newsies. They had to protect them. A soon as he got back, he was going to tell Jack, and they would…..

A hand latched onto his arm, and he was pulled into an alley. A familiar, sickening smell warmed its way into his nose.

Imminently, he started to kick, and punch, swinging his limps around, to give himself some room before he could register what was going on around him.

It worked, at least a little bit. Porter backed up, giving him a little room, but still blocked off the exit. Race knew the terms. He knew that the man would go after his boys if he resisted. But he needed to resist. He could not take this. Not again.

So he stood up, picking up his hands, placing the balled fists in front of his face. He was a street kid, and street kids knew how to fight. He was not going with Porter. Not again.

He laughed. Porter was laughing. Laughing at him.

Arms wrapped around him from behind and race let out a yelp, as two other men emerged from the shadows. Panic surged through his entire body, and Race started to squirm in the men’s hold. There was no way he was going to get out.

“He’s a feisty one,” the man who was holding him said, “I like that.” He bent down and licked Race’s face, staring at his jaw, dragging his wet tongue to the start of his hair. Race wanted to scream, but it stopped in his throat.

“We’ll have to calm him down,” said Porter, taking a step forward, and taking something out of his jacket. It was a bottle of something, Race could bearly see out of his tear-filled eyes.

A rough hand squished his face, forcing his mouth open, and the liquid as poured down his throat. It burned, all the way down.  
Immediately, he knew it was alcohol, but it was spiked with something. Something much more dangerous

Forced to take great gulps of it, he felt it run his insides raw, all the way down to his stomach, harshly churning. It kept coming until the bottle was empty, and he was dropped on the ground. Through his blurry vision, he could see the man stripping off their clothes, before getting to work on him. Some started to bite and lip all over his body.

Race groaned, feeling the drugs making his body go limp, and the alcohol starts to screw with his brain. The three men were all around him, like hungry wolves around their pray. He as stuck underneath them, unable to escape. Every contact they made with his contact felt like he was on fire. It hurt so much. Everything hurt so much. 

Silent tears started to roll down his face, as Race started to wish for death to take him. 

Jack looked out the window of the lodging house, a small fire of worry starting to bubble up in his stomach. Race had still not come home. It had been hours since he had to put all of the littles to bed, all by himself, which he was still a little sore over. It had taken all of the energy that he had let out of him, not really in the mood to even play cards with the older boys. All he wanted was David to come back to the lodging house, but he knew he was hard at work with school work.

Jack was proud of his boyfriend, but that did not mean that he did not miss him. The Walking Mouth always made it easier to get through the day. But, this was potentially his only chance to get out of this hell hole, and he wanted to take it, even though he was sure that he was going to be able to follow the boy.

Staggering steps clumsily coming in the front door shocked Jack out of his thoughts. He hopped down from his window sill spot and started to the door, sure that he knew who it was, ready to give a lecture about how tired he was.

But the boy in the front made him stop, right in his tracks. It was Race, that was undeniable, but his clothes were half on. He was swaying from side to side, drunk.

“Hiya Jackie boy,” he slurred, staggering to the leader “I’s a little late. Um sorry.”

“Race, what the hell?” Jack yelled, rushing forward and grabbing him under the shoulder, and dragging him out of the lodging house. The littles were still awake, and they stared at the wasted second, Jack could feel their eyes. Sure, Blink, Mush, even Albert got drunk on the occasion, and came back to the house wasted, but he had forbidden Race and himself to drink. They were supposed to take care of these boys, and they couldn’t do that if their head was swimming with alcohol. Most of the kids had seen the bad side of liquor, and they did not need to see their role models wasted. It would trigger too many unwanted memories.

Jack threw his second into the nearby alley, watching him stumble to catch his footing again. Once he regained his balance, Race turned to look at him. It was off, and he swayed with every movement. Anger traveled up Jack’s throat, and he rushed forward, pushing until he had Race pinned up against a wall, his forearm across his upper chest.

The gambler struggled a little under the pressure, but it was feeble and clumsy, and Jack was too furious to see anything wrong with it.

“What the hell were you thinking? Coming back drunk! Did you even go the tracks?” Jack glanced down to see the mostly full newsie bag of papers “you didn’t sell…..you didn’t sell! Higgins, what the hell are you thinking? Winter is coming, and we need to get ready for it, and you wasting your time getting drunk is not helping! You stupid, stupid….”

The fury in his stomach died down a little when he felt the boy under his grip started to shake. His head was to his chest, so Jack could not see his face, but he did not need to. He could feel the tears fall onto his arm. Under the loose clothing, Jack could see his chest heaving, desperate to take in an adequate breath.

“Hey” his voice was soft, and he allowed himself to loosen up on the grip. As soon as he did, Race’s knees buckled from under him, and he collapsed. Jack was bearly about to catch him before he hit the ground. That’s when all hell broke loose.

Race started to sob. Uncontrollably. Shaking. All over. It was like he was made out of glass, and that, even the smallest touch would make him shatter even more. Hot tears were streaming down his face, visible even with his face buried deep in his hands.

It took Jack by surprise, as he guided his second to the ground. Race never told people who he was feeling. How he was really feeling. He was private, and always had a smile on his face, and a cigar in his mouth. Taking what life gave him, and never complaining. But this, this was a broken, sixteen-year-old boy drunkenly crying in an alley of New York. the thought was too unfamiliar. Something had happened. There was no way that the Racetrack Higgins would come back to the newsies boarding house drunk.

“Race hey” Jack kneeled in front of the wasted newsie, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away. “what happened?”

The boy shook his head, violently, like he was trying to shake something out of it. He grabbed onto Jack’s hands, taking them off of him, and placing them back at Jack’s side, before curling up into a ball. Fat fears streamed down his face. Heaving breath in and out in between the neverending stream of sobs.

“Race” Jack sounded defeated. He had done this. This was his fault. How was he going to fix this? How how how how how….?

“Jack…” a soft voice at the entrance. David. “Oh god….”

Honestly, Jack was feeling much the same way. Race continued to cry in front of him, and he had no idea how to make it better. If he could make it better.  
David put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back, slightly. Jack was in shock. He did not know what to do. This was too much. He clung to David’s touch, allowing it to ground him, keep him from breaking down from stress.

Once both of them were a ways away from the boy, only then did Davey talk.

“Race, you need to come inside, you’ll get sick if you don’t.”

It did not seem that the broken boy had registered the words. He continued to sob into his knees, shaking uncontrollably. Each sob more desperate than the last one.  
Jack was stunned, bearly registering he worried look that David shot him, before he crouched down next to Race, reaching out with his hand.

_Wait…._

The thought did not have time to leave his mouth, his hand was already on the boy’s shoulder. He jerked back, violently, slamming his head on the brick wall behind him, letting a sickening crack echo through the alley. Jack flinched at the noise, barely able to see the blood that was starting to roll down the back of his head through the rain.

Racetrack’s eyes. Paralyzed with fear. Lept from person to person, trying to predict which one was going to hurt him first. Terror. Directed at him. 

Jack’s heart broke with those eyes. He had seen boys terrified. He had seen them shaking with fear, wanting to disappear from the world, and never come back. The memories of a life before bouncing around in their empty heads, only able to repeat the events over and over again. And he had always been there to calm them down. To make it better. And now….that fear was directed at him. He was the cause of that fear.

_I’m turning out like my old man_

“Race, we need to get you inside,” said David, keeping his voice soft when addressing him. “Jack and I, we won’t touch you, not even a little. You can do it all on your own. We need to get inside thought. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Race’s drugged brain seemed to try to process the words, while also trying to fight through the memories. It took a moment, but he seemed to relax, just a little before he started to pull his body to a semi-standing position. Every time he slipped, stumbled, only to catch himself on the wall, Jack lunged forward, ready to catch him. And every time David was there to stop him from making it worse on good intentions.

The trio, slowly, made their way out of the alley, and in the front door of the boarding house. Kloppman was at the desk, staring into the book he always kept there, before glancing up when the boys entered.

He froze. Shock taking over his whole body. He had seen the boys beaten up before, but nothing like this. David was shocked by it, trying not to stare at the bruises and cuts that covered the boy's skin. But it looked so bad. It looked painful. Every time the gambler took a step, he winced, using anything around him to just keep himself upright.

“What in the hell…” yelled Kloppman, running around the counter. This grabbed the attention of a few others. Chairs slid back, people starting to gather, wanting to see what the commotion was.

“Stay back,” Jack yelled. All of the time that David had been with the newsies, he knew that Jack rarely yelled. He was freaking out. The broken boy at the very tips of his fingers. “Race, come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

The glaze over his eyes did not leave, but he seemed to understand, walking catatonically towards the stairs, and the bunking room. Everyone watched. A mixture of confusion and concern in their faces. Jack followed, making sure that no one was getting too close, being sure not to get too close himself, as Davey was not far behind.

Race stood at the end of his bed, not moving, not getting any closer.

Taking a deep breath, Jack moved closer, gently guiding him into the bed, and under the covers. Not bothering to take off his shoes, or anything, just tucking him in as best as they could, without touching him, and leaving.

Everyone was in the common area, looking up. Watching. Waiting for Jack to come out of the room. Davey waited outside as well. It did not seem like his place to step into the room. Race was so broken, he was not sure if the newsie could handle more than one person being close to him at the moment.

Jack emerged from the room, closing the door, as silently as he could behind him. The entire room held their breath. Not daring to move. Waiting. Watching as he turned around, letting out a heavy breath.

“Race is…” he said, trying to keep his own emotions in check. Trying to show them an example. But god, his hands were shaking. He fights to keep the moisture out of his eyes. “Is not doing alright. We just need to give him some space. Let him breathe. I don’t want anyone making any loud noises. Don’t touch him. Just….leave him alone for a while.”

The tension stayed in the room, even after the speech. That was not the answer any of them wanted. But, it was what they were going to get. So, they dispersed, a dull whisper falling over the room. Rumors were not an uncommon thing, but this was more worry. Less venomous that it could be.

Albert wanted at the end of the stairs for a few seconds longer. Like Race was going to walk about them at any moment. That he would be alright. Tell a joke, and start gambling, just like they did every night.

But, it did not happen, and he moved off himself, finding an empty chair, and just sitting. Not doing much of anything. Stewing in his worry.  
Jack looked at Davey, a very clear sheen over his eyes. He was fighting tears. He was lost. He had no idea what he was going to do.

Davey’s heart ached for him. This was so much bigger than any of them. And all he could do was pull the leader in for a firm hug. This was all he could do to try to make anything better.


	9. Not Quite Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you i have 0 impulse control

Spot waited. Looking at the sun and tracking is a slow descent into the East River. Racetrack had still not shown up. They would have made the trek across the bridge, and he would be on his way back to the Brookland Lodging house. But he was alone. Staring at a setting sun disappeared into the water around him. But no Racetrack.

This was not right. He was always here. Ever since they had made their arraignment with Manhattan. It was part of their arrangement with Manhattan. Sure he could be sick, but he would have to be very sick to miss a day of work. Newsies did not have the luxury of being able to take days off. And there was no way that he could have developed something so severe so fast, without anyone noticing. Without him noticing. He would notice. Spot knew he would. Race as a good liar, but he would notice. He had to.

Right?

“Ah, fuck this,” he shouted to the world.

He was angry. On why Race was not here. Manhattan has violated their agreement. They had pulled a lot of dumb shit under Jack’s rule, but this was one of the worst. They knew how much Brooklyn held a grudge.

He was angry at Racetrack. The smudge motherfucker. A lying gambler who thinks he can do anything that he wants. Well, he has another thing coming. Keeping the King of Brooklyn waiting. He’d give that smug smirk a piece of his mind.  
After Spot made sure he was ok. That he was safe. And in the Manhattan lodging house. Telling a story to the littles, and a good reason for why he had not been at the bridge.

And then he would give Race a talking too.

The walk to Manhattan felt like the slowest and quickest thing that he had ever done. The anger simmered down, the closer, leaving behind only concern. Because despite all of the plans he was making in his head for every scenario, Spot had no idea what happened. He had no idea why Race had not been at their meeting place. And, despite the front that he put on his face, in the sanctuary of his own mind, Spot was scared.

Race kept a schedule. He had never missed a day of work. Rain, shine, snow, sleet. When he was sick, snot running down his nose, constantly sniffing, he was still there, telling lies and selling papers.

This whole thing was just so wrong. Something was deeply wrong, and Spot would get to the bottom of it one way or another.

Stalking down the streets of Manhattan, Spot scowled people out of his way, a little proud that his reputation made its way to the low life of this side of the city. A feat that not many people could say, adult or kid. More often than not, kids were more grown-up than adults were, and Spot was more than willing to intimidate them to get what he wanted. Of all of the kids in his lodging house, very few of them had had decent parents, who had treated them right. He did not know his own parents but thought that would be for the best. The last thing that he needed was a drunk old man taking his money and breathing down his neck. He had other things to worry about.

The rundown building of the local lodging house came into view, just around the corner. His pace moved a little faster, picking up his cane into his hands, holding it resting on his shoulder.

With a quick, and fluid motion, Spot grabbed and turned the brass handle of the door, bursting into the room.

“Where’s Racetrack?” he shouted into the room, looking around for a moment, before adding, “Where’s Jack?”

Dead. that was the best way he could describe the room. Just dead. People were sitting, or leaning on something, quiet and hushed conversation was the only thing that drifted from person to person before he had made an entrance. No card games had been laid out. No circle of stories. No bottle of whiskey being passed around after some lucky someone had stolen it. Nothing. Just a dead look.

They all turned their attention to him as soon as he made himself known. A few of them flinching out of their thoughts, others out of hushed conversations.

“Spot,” Jack’s voice cut across the tense room. He stood at the top of their staircase, the one he assumed led to the bunking room.

He looked like shit. Dark circles under his eyes. His hair pushed back and smoothed out again, creating a disheveled look, with clumped poking up at different parts of his head. The whites of his eyes were colored over with red, knuckles white from how hard he was grabbing the banister. Jack Kelly looked scared.

This was not good.

Spot made a beeline for him, taking the steps in two before they were both in the room.

David was sitting next to a bed, wringing a cloth out, before placing it on someone’s forehead. Dark hair, contrasting with the dirty pillows that all of the bunks had.

Anger.

Instantly taking over all of Spot. But this was not normal anger. This was not normal anger. Not the overtaking need to do something. To punch someone. To blame someone for what had happened. This was slow-burning rage. Something that could fester for years. Decades. Slowly building before it came out in the most violent and dangerous ways, hurting anyone and every in its path.

But it made it easy to package up and put away. At least for now. He was nowhere near done with the anger. But that was a different time. Not here. Not now.

“What happened?” in a calm voice that surprised him.

“We don’t know. He came back….drunk….drugged? I don’t know. But he was stumbling. So I took him outside to talk, and he just….collapsed. And he would cry if we got too close. Sob. Like I was going to hurt him. And I never would. But we had no idea what to do. And he was starting to run a really bad fever, and we needed to get him inside, so….”

Spot filled in the rest with his imagination. He did not like what he came up with, but he would like it less if it came out of Jack. He knew the cowboy cared about all of his boys, and would never hurt any of them. So to think that he had to get close when Race was, most likely, have a breakdown….it remained Spot too much of the times he had to do the same with one of his boys, to keep them safe, but only replaced with the man he lo….

“He’s not doing well. But Davey said that he should be ok. As long as we keep him hydrated. It’s just….hard to see him like this.”

You’re telling me.

“Do you know what happened?”

Spot would give anything to give Jack a straight answer. To give him just an answer besides the one that he had. But there would be ways to get those answers. Later. 

“No,” Spot said, not taking his eyes off the thin form under at least ten blankets, to try to keep some heat in. “I was hoping that he would be safe. And here. He was not at the races today, and I wanted to make sure that he was ok. Especially with the high tensions at the moment. Not needing one of yours getting hurt on my watch.”

He knew it was not true. Sure, he would have been worried, but his responsibilities as a Brooklands leader would have overshadowed anyone if it had not been Race. Spot was here because of Racetrack. And deep down, he knew that. But there was no way that he would admit that to Jack Kelly.

“Can I see him?” Spot asked. It was much less of an ask but a soft demand. If Jack said no, he would wait. There was no way he would leave until he saw that the boy was ok with his own eyes. Even then, that might not be enough to convince him to go back. It was alright. Slingshot knew what to do if he was ever gone. They could take care of themselves for a night. This was so much more important.

The cowboy gave a shallow nod, before starting to move towards the bed, Spot close behind. Every step felt like every step seemed to take all of his energy. Every breath wracked his entire body. He was not ready. He did not know if he would ever be ready. If there would be any point in the future that he would be ready. But there was no way that he could not be there for him. There was no way that he could leave him alone. Spot had to be there. He had to be.

And there was no way that he would ever be ready to see the boy laying on the bed. Race’s personality had always been bigger than his stature, but this. He just looked small. The beds were not large, but this one seemed to engulf the gambler. Swallowing him up. His face was pale and sickly. A hand clenching the edge of one of the blankets, shaking under the grip.

Spot grabbed onto one of his hands, holding it close to his face, pressing a kiss into the knuckles. Everything else in the room melted away, everyone. All that mattered was the boy in front of him.

This gambler. Who meant more to Spot than he was willing to admit. At least to anyone. He had the right mind to scream and yell at the boy when he woke up, telling him that he was an idiot. Putting himself in danger for what? A few extra pennies. Jack would have no idea what he would do if his second in command left.

Spot would have no idea what he would do.

Time stopped.

The realization stuck and flowed through his brain like water. Like an instinct. One that he had not known he had been searching for, ever since he had met the boy.

Spot did not think. He just slid into the bed, curling up next to Race, pulling him into his chest, and tucking gambler's head under his chin. Race shivered, before starting to shift closer to him. Making himself small, fitting right into the space in between his arms. His eyes still closed. Hot to the touch but still shivering. It broke Spot's heart.

Spot's strong arms wrapping around him. Spot could protect him. And he would.

With a decision made, firm and clamped in his mind, Spot pressed a kiss into Race’s hair. Letting the boy snuggle up to him, attracted to the warmth of his body, pressing closer together under the thin blanket.

Yeah. He would protect Race. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back! After 6 months. This will be finished. Like one more chapter. When will it be up? Who knows.


End file.
